


Just Breathe

by maxiekat



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxiekat/pseuds/maxiekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hook is badly injured after saving Henry. The group has made it to his ship to escape Neverland and return home, but will it be too late? Captain Swan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Once Upon a Time, Just Breathe by Pearl Jam, or I’m Not What You Need by Joe Purdy

_I want to let you take a hold of this sinking ship and lead me home…_

 

Hook’s legs gave out and he fell to the deck of his ship. He’d hoped to make it to the helm so he could steer the Jolly Roger out of the bay and into open waters, but his strength had finally dissipated. The pain stabbing through his chest with every breath finally claimed victory in the war his body had been waging ever since the last battle that had won them Henry’s freedom.

A veil dimmed the stars and he let the darkness wash over him. He was ready to let go.

Laughter. He heard laughter and opened his eyes and turned his head to the side, watching her … watching Emma. She had Henry in her arms, grasping him in a tight hug the boy returned. Both had tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces. He felt content watching her. If her happiness meant his death, then so be it. Dying a hero sure beat the alternative – a small bright spot to the footnotes of his life.

Her parents – the prince and Snow White - were hovering over them, looking proud and relieved. Baelfire was off to the side, obviously still a little unsure of just where he fit into things. Hook knew that with time, the lad would find his way.

Regina stepped up and Henry latched onto to her. So much love for one little boy – a man his age shouldn’t feel a pang of jealously over a lost childhood, but it was there, twisting his heart in his chest.

Emma moved away, allowing Regina her moment. She glanced over her shoulder and he guessed she must have noticed him lying there, her smile fading.  He took a deep shuddering breath, hoping to summon some flippant remark to shrug off the whole dire situation, but he couldn’t come up with anything except a whispered, “Emma.”

She ran over to him, dropping to her knees. “Hook. What? Where?” she said as she turned him over onto his back and ran her hands over him, up under his leather coat. She pulled her hand back, the red glinting wetly in the moonlight.

“This isn’t just a cut,” she gasped.  
  
“Aye, love, I know,” he said weakly.  
  
“This is serious.”  
  
“Fatal,” he admitted and then his brain switched into panicked, rambling mode and the words started tumbling out. “My own sword, too. Poetic, really, if you think about it. Wrestled away from me by a Lost Boy. Not one of my finer moments. My dying wish is that we never speak of it again.”

  
“Shut up,” she snapped as she pulled his jacket open.  “You aren’t going to die,” she said, her voice determined, steely, but sounding dangerously close to devolving into a sob.  
  
“We all die someday, Emma,” he said with a tired smile. “Every adventure has to come to an end.”

 “Stop being so dramatic,” she said as she ripped his shirt open and pressed her hand over his wound.  “Regina … Regina can fix this. She fixed your ship, this is a piece of cake.”  
  
“About that …”  
  
“Regina!” Emma called and the woman reluctantly made her way over to the pair.  
  
“What?” she asked, her voice bored and annoyed.  Emma moved her hands and the queen blanched, her mask dropping for a second, genuine concern for someone other than herself or Henry fleeting across her features.

“Save him,” Emma ordered.

“I …” Regina started.  
  
“Just do it. He saved Henry. We owe him. _You_ owe him.” 

“Of course. What kind of a person do you take me for?” Regina asked as she waved her hand over Hook’s chest, purple light flaring out and settling over the wound. Nothing happened. Her brow’s knitted together and she waved her hand again.  

“This should work,” she said in disbelief.    
  
Hook coughed and he could taste the blood in the back of his throat. “What I was trying to tell you, love, before you summoned her royal highness – the blade was enchanted. By Cora.”  
  
“My mother?” Regina asked, he shoulders slouching. He knew defeat when he saw it.    
  
Hook nodded. “Aye.”  
  
“Enchanted how?” Emma asked, even though she had a feeling she wouldn’t like the answer.

He at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed as he explained. “Any wound it creates will be impervious to magic to heal it.”  
  
“Well, that’s just great,” she pushed at his shoulder and he winced.  
  
He put his hand up to defend himself. “I wasn’t bloody planning on having it used against me.”  
  
“Really? It didn’t cross your mind that with your shitty luck it might backfire on you?”

“Attack a man while he’s down.” He raised an eyebrow, trying to bring a little levity to the situation. He grinned.  “You’re never one to disappoint, Swan.”

She tilted her head and he had a flash of her looking down at him in the hospital, the moment when she stopped being the sheriff and was just Emma for a brief moment. She brushed her hand through his hair and he could see her swallow heavily – her eyes glassy even in the darkness.  “I’m not giving up,” she whispered. “If magic won’t heal you, we’ll just have to do this the old fashioned way.”  
  
“On the Jolly Roger? In the middle of nowhere?” Regina asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
Emma sighed and glared back over her shoulder. “Regina, you’re not helping.”  
  
“She’s right, love. I’ve lost too much blood, the wound is deep and it feels like …” He took a shuddering breath that tugged strangely in his chest. “It feels like something is wrong, something more than a simple stab wound.  I fear this is beyond even your stubborn will, lass.” 

Emma grabbed his hand, her eyes flashing, like she was angry but her voice was trembling beneath the steel. “We’re going to get you home.”

“We still don’t even know how we’re getting back to Storybrooke,” Regina pointed out and Emma closed her eyes - Hook swore she was counting to ten under her breath. Regina continued her show of support – she would have made one hell of a town crier. “The pirate was supposed to steer this thing. Now what?”

“Well, she’s just a bloody ray of sunshine, isn’t she,” Hook muttered under his breath and Emma ducked her head toward her shoulder to hide her laugh from the queen.  

Someone cleared their throat and Hook suddenly remembered there were other people aboard his ship – all of whom were staring at him as he bled to death on the deck. He gaze settled on Henry and the boy nodded at him and he nodded back.    
  
Baelfire …no, his mind corrected, _Neal_ raised his hand awkwardly. “Um … I can. I can steer the ship.”  
  
Hook gave him a tired grin. “You sure?”  
  
Neal nodded and gave a short laugh and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Pretty sure I remember everything you taught me. Just like riding a bike, right?”

  
“Aye, or making love to woman,” Hook said and Emma squeezed his hand, perhaps a wee bit harder than she needed to.

“We still don’t have a way to open a portal once we set sail,” Regina pointed out.  
  
“Tinkerbell said she’d be here,” Snow said.

“The pixie lied,” Regina rolled her eyes.  
  
Snow pushed past her, her shoulder nudging her from behind.  “Have a little faith,” she hissed in Regina’s ear. “And help me find some bandages and supplies.” The two women disappeared below deck as David and Henry climbed up to the helm to joined Neal.

“Need any help?” Charming asked and Neal’s started giving orders, hesitant at first but soon his voice rang out with confidence and authority. Hook grinned, remember their short time together as he taught the lad everything he knew – if anyone would get Emma and her family home, it was Baelfire.

  
The voices faded as everyone set to work to get the Jolly Roger on her way, leaving Hook alone with Emma. 

Hook squeezed her hand, his strength waning with each painful breath. “My one regret,” he managed to say, his voice weaker than he realized.  
  
“What?” she asked, leaning closer to hear and his breath caught at the way her hair fell over her shoulder, looking like spun silver in the light of the moon. 

“My one regret is that we shared only that one kiss.”  
  
“It was a good kiss.” She smiled, her expression wistful and sad as she ran her fingers over his forehead, brushing his hair back. “If I promise to kiss you again when this is all over, do you promise not to die?”  
  
“That’s a tall order, love,” he said, returning her smile. The darkness around the edges was growing and he wasn’t going to be able to hold it back much longer. “I never break my promises, I’d hate to start now …”

XxXxXxXxXx

 

It’s strange, the things the brain processes when coming back from the dead.

Beeping. An incessant beeping that would drive any sane man mad. And then a strange click followed by an even stranger hiss – over and over again. Something heavy had settled onto his chest, making it a struggle for each breath – though the fact he was breathing was a bit of surprise. And something warm and soft was snuggled against his right hip.

His fingers stirred, wanting to explore the source of the warmth, but they were trapped and wouldn’t obey. He had a brief flash of panic, remembering those many mornings where he’d wake up, thinking he was a whole man, forgetting he had lost his hand, only to relive it all over again when he remembered. 

He must have jerked his arm or something because the vice on his fingers tightened and he felt something fluttered across his forehead. “Killian,” a voice said gently and he scrunched up his brow in confusion.  No one had called him that in centuries.

“Killian,” the voice said more forcefully. “Open your eyes.”  
  
“Nay,” he answered stubbornly, his voice barely above a rough whisper.  
  
The answer he received was a laugh. “You can’t pretend you’re not awake, pal. I saw you move.”  
  
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and winced. So much white. Everything was out of focus and bright and so bloody white.

“Hey,” the soft voice said and he turned his head, trying to get his bearings. Everything took on a sharp clarity when he saw her … Emma.

“Hey,” he croaked back and was rewarded with a huge smile. He must really be a mess if he could coax that sort of smile out of her.

“We made it,” she said. “You’re going to be okay.”  
  
He must have had a confused look on his face because she suddenly rushed into a lengthy explanation. He picked up bits and pieces of it, but his brain was so foggy he figured he’d simply ask for a repeat of the story the next time he woke up.  All he got was the word hospital, which made him groan since he did not have the best memories from his last visit. Something about a whale performing surgery, which made not one lick of sense. And lastly, the bit about Emma being scared, which made him want to wrap her up in his arms and apologize, but since modern hospitals saw fit to keep his strapped down with wires and tubes and assorted torture devices, the most he could do was nod.

“How? Neverland?” he managed to ask and somehow she knew what she meant.  
  
“Tinkerbell.” Emma made that wry twist with her mouth that she made every time she mentioned the pixie – he made a note to find out just what made Tink so unbelievable in her world. “She came back,” Emma explained. “She found Pan’s stash of pixie dust. Long story short: portal opened, Neal got us home, you didn’t die.”

“Kiss?” he asked, wincing at how sore his throat was and how rough his voice was.  
  
“What?”  
  
“A kiss." He managed a grin and raised an eyebrow, his strength returning a bit. The grin turned into a childish pout when she rolled her eyes at him. “You promised,” he prodded and she sighed.

 

 

_To be continued …_

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hook's hospital room was quiet – they'd unhooked him from all the machines the day before and he was finally getting a good rest. The head of the bed was raised and Hook's face was turned away from the doorway toward the window, his expression serene as he slept.

Emma stopped in the doorway, watching him, marveling at how young and innocent he looked when he wasn't bugging the hell out of her.

"Kiss," was the groan that came from the supposed-to-be-sleeping pirate and she wondered if he'd been awake the whole time.

"Are you going to say that every time I walk into the room?" Emma asked, nudging the door shut with her hip.

Hook slowly turned to look at her, a look of exaggerated disappointment on his face. "I can't believe you'd hold a kiss hostage from a dying man."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not dying."

He shifted slightly, wincing. "You promised a kiss. Pirates don't break promises."

"Since when? You were lying when I met you. Isn't lying kind of rule number one in the whole pirate code of conduct?" She dropped her jacket on the end of his bed and grabbed the chair that had become her second home during his hospital stay.

"Lies and promises are two different things, love."

"Well, you're forgetting something - I'm not a pirate."

"You're more of a pirate than you think, Swan."

"And who said I broke my promise?" She grabbed a magazine from his bedside table and started paging through it.

He grunted as he reached over and grabbed the magazine. "Come again?"

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Isn't anticipation part of the thrill? I kiss you, what do you have left to live for?"

He slowly licked his bottom lip and she fought to keep her expression blank. How a man in a bleached out hospital gown and five day old bed head could manage to look dangerous, she had no idea. "I'm sure we can think of something else," he said with a lazy grin. "Up the ante. I'm game if you are."

XxXxXxXxXx

"A little Spartan in here, Swan?" Hook said as he leaned against the doorway to her bedroom.

"I like to keep things simple," she explained as she turned down the bed before heading back to the pirate. She offered him her shoulder and support as he limped over to the bed and sank down with a sigh.

She hadn't factored in the stairs when she'd determined her bedroom was the best place to keep him while he convalesced with her and her family. It was a ten minute climb and one she was afraid they weren't going to be able to finish as he stopped at every step to catch his breath. Maybe she should have given him the couch instead and then she wouldn't have to give up her bed, but that seemed like the last place you should put the guy who saved your son and almost died doing it.

"Simple?" Hook asked as he looked around and took in her room. "I knew a friar once - jovial fellow, piss drunk at all times - who took a vow of poverty. I believe he had more belongings than you."

She followed his gaze and took in the dresser with no knickknacks, the end table with a lamp and a book she was never going to finish. There were pictures on the walls, but those were Mary Margaret's and she'd never spared them more than a passing glance. She thought of the place as home, maybe it was time she started acting like it. Messed it up a bit, put a picture on her dresser, killed a plant on the window sill. Stop living like she was the Emma who couldn't put down roots and trust people.

She must have been too quiet because Hook suddenly broke into her thoughts. "Swan?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Sorry." She waited for him to pull his legs up and then unfolded the quilt, tucking him in for all intents and purposes. She tried not to laugh at how surreal her life had become. "I'll bring the TV up here. Will that make things better?"

His face lit up. "The moving picture box?"

She sighed. "Yes, the _moving picture box_."

"I suppose that would suffice."

"Oh, you suppose?"

XxXxXxXxXx

"What are you guys up to?" Emma asked from the doorway.

"Pirate movies," Henry explained, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Hook shifted against the mound of pillows piled between his back and the headboard. He winced and groaned a bit, in obvious pain, and she fought he urge to ask him if he was okay. He was one week out of the hospital and, while not even close to a hundred percent, he was healing and that was all that mattered to her. Asking him eight thousand times a day if he was okay would drive them both nuts.

Henry was next to the pirate, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles on top of the quilt Mary Margaret gave her. She should tell him to get his sneakers off her bed because that seemed like a mom-thing to say, but she didn't have the heart to nag him after spending so much time getting him back. The contents of the refrigerator appeared to be scattered all over the bed and end tables. Judging by the candy wrappers sprinkled on the floor, they had apparently been at their little movie marathon for a while.

Hook narrowed his gaze at the television, a confused look on his face. "Does your land really think all we do is drink rum and bumble about?"

She turned around and her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. "Seriously?" she asked and he opened and closed his mouth, any retort dying on his tongue.

Looking down, fidgeting with the frayed edge of the blanket across his lap, he muttered, "Point taken," under his breath.

" _Pirates of the Caribbean_." Henry pointed to the TV, the credits starting to roll as the movie came to an end. "The first one, with the skeleton pirate guys."

"I see," Emma answered, bending down to pick up the laundry that was strewn all over the floor. Amazing how the male mind works – one week in the modern world and they immediately revert to slob-mode.

"Sparrow was always a bit of a buffoon and a ridiculous showman," Hook said through a mouthful of popcorn, "but I don't recall him being such an idiot."

"Sp-Sparrow," Emma sputtered. "As in Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"Aye."

"They were mates," Henry supplied and Emma fought her grin at the way he mimicked Hook's accent.

"Not mates, lad, acquaintances. You have far more acquaintances as a pirate than mates."

"Keep your friends close but your enemies closer," Emma said dryly.

"Exactly. That's a pirate mind you have there, Swan, no matter how much you strive to deny it."

"No," she corrected. "What I have is an uncanny ability to quote just about any movie I've seen. That was from _The Godfather_. One we'll have to watch without Henry."

"Hey!" Henry interrupted.

"Way too violent, kid."

"Okay, next one." Henry dropped the popcorn bowl in Hook's lap and rolled off the bed to change the DVD. " _The Princess Bride_ ," he read the cover as he opened the cover and popped out the disc.

"Oh, I like the sound of that one," Hook said and she knew it was directed toward her. She met his gaze and he winked and she rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't see the way her cheeks flushed.

"It's one of my mom's favorites," Henry said, oblivious to the silent exchange between the pirate and his mother.

"Is that so?" Hook asked.

"It's not bad," she said, shifting the load of laundry in her arms. "By the way, _mate_ …"

"Yes, love?"

"Tomorrow I'm going to teach you how to use the washing machine." She glanced at the glasses leaving rings on her table and the bowls of melted ice cream and grimaced. "And the dishwasher."

A slow grin spread across his face. "I can hardly wait."

Henry laughed.

"Same goes for you too, pal," she added as she left the room. "Just because the good captain is recovering from his brush with death does not mean we suddenly live in a pig sty."

Henry's loud groan of, "But … mom …" followed her down the stairs and she loved how normal it sounded – how right.

The sound of the movie floated down to her as she made her way back up the stairs after starting the washing machine. The dialogue was so familiar to her that she could practically act out the scene they were on.

"As you wish was all he ever said to her." Peter Falk's gentle voice echoed from her room.

She froze on the steps. "Oh, no," she gasped, lunging for the doorway.

She arrived just as the narration supplied that line that always made her heart stop. "That day she was amazed to discover that when he was saying, 'As you wish,' what he meant was, 'I love you'."

Hook's face was pale as he watched the movie, his expression a mirror of hers, she was sure of it. "Knack for remembering movies?" he asked, practically a whisper and she nodded.

He swallowed. "Nearly every line?" he asked and she nodded again. "Bloody hell," he said, so quiet she almost didn't catch it.

She turned on her heel and bolted out of the room.

She was in the kitchen, pacing as the kettle she put on started to heat. She should have used the microwave, but she needed the time for the water to boil to gather her thoughts.

He wasn't far behind and she wasn't surprised when he limped into the kitchen, obviously winded from his trip down the stairs. She felt a twinge of guilt – she knew he'd follow and she should have at least offered him a shoulder for support.

She hurried around the counter, pulling out a stool for him, which he sat on with a sigh. His head down for a minute, he held his hand over the bandages still wrapped around his chest and the wound that almost killed him. She held her breath, waiting to hear any tell tale signs that his breathing was worse, that he'd maybe got an infection or pneumonia or something. Her mind raced through a million things that could still go wrong with his injury.

"Relax, Swan," he said between gritted teeth. "Just a little out of practice with the whole moving around thing." Her shoulders relaxed and she fought the urge to reach out and feel his forehead for a fever.

"I know, I should chill out, right?" she said with a wry twist of her lips.

"Chill? Out?" he said, puzzlement worrying his brow.

"That's what Henry would say to me. 'Jeez, chill out, Mom.'"

"Another of your baffling sayings, love?"

She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Aye, it is."

"'Aye'? Are you making fun of me?"

"Maybe." She winked.

The teapot started to whistle and she hurried to get it off the burner before the sound became piercing. Grabbing two mugs, she sat the kettle on the island next to Mary Margret's vast assortment of gourmet teas that she kept in a teeth achingly cute basket, complete with gingham lining and lace doily edging. Choosing two bags of her favorite, she set them in the mugs and slid one in front of Hook.

"What? No rum?" he asked, predictably, and she shook her head.

"'Fraid not, pal. No rum with all those pain killers and antibiotics."

"Bollocks if you ask me. Rum works just as well as all your fancy medicines." He hunched his shoulders over his mug, idly stirring the spoon in it as the sugar he dumped in dissolved and the tea steeped.

"Rum numbs the pain, it doesn't heal it," she said, studying him as he sat across from her.

His hook was in the bedside table drawer in her room but he insisted on wearing the rigging that covered his stump – he'd grown uncharacteristically quiet in the hospital when she'd asked him why he felt the need to hide it, but she didn't press the issue. He also wore a long sleeved hooded sweatshirt over his t-shirt that she had a feeling was intended more to conceal the leather straps that wound up his arm than to help stay warm. Add in the grey sweatpants that belonged to David and she was surprised to find herself missing the leather duster and flamboyant shirt. He looked so different in "peasant clothes", as he called them - so exposed and vulnerable.

"I'd take the numb over the pain any day, love," he said, raising his head, his eyes meeting hers. She was always startled by how blue they were … and how sad they were when she took the time to look beyond the smirk and the swagger.

"Captain!" Henry called from upstairs. "Are you coming back?"

Hook laughed. "I've been summoned."

"Thank you for humoring him."

"Him? He's humoring me, lass. I'd go stir crazy up there if not for you and your son. Thank you, for giving me shelter when I'm sure it would be much less of a burden not to."

"You saved Henry – you can stay here long as you want to."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I meant 'need to' – as long as you need to."

"I have just as many needs as wants, Swan." His voice dropped an octave and his expression was pure Hook and she met his gaze, unflinching.

"So do I." She wondered if there were special points for making a pirate blush.

She gave him a couple of seconds to squirm before she changed the topic. "So, that movie …"

"Aye." He looked relieved. "That movie."

"And that line. Coincidence, huh?"

He nodded, eyes down, fidgeting with the edge of the cuff of his sweatshirt. Her lie detector was going off the charts. "Complete coincidence."

"Doesn't mean a thing."

"Bloody romantic nonsense, if you ask me." That time he looked up, but it was at the ceiling. _Nice try, pal,_ she thought.

"Glad to see we're on the same page," she said, something odd setting in her chest – like she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

"Mom!" Henry interrupted.

"Just a sec, kid!" she hollered back. She picked up both mugs and started walking toward the stairs when she stopped and looked back at Hook, who was following a few steps behind her.

"You haven't asked today, you know," she said.

"Asked?"

"For that kiss."

The edge of his mouth quirked up into a grin but his expression didn't harden the way it usually did when he was about to turn into Captain Innuendo. He took a step forward, almost like he was asking her to dance at prom and was nervous she'd say no. "Would you like me to?"

She shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a teenager with a school girl crush. "Perhaps," she said with a shrug she hoped looked way more nonchalant than it felt.

"Perhaps?" he repeated and she nodded.

He leaned in, his breath warm against her face. He tilted his head, brushing her hair off her shoulder and running his thumb over her cheek. She closed her eyes and held her breath. "As you wish," he whispered as his lips claimed hers.

_The end_


End file.
